Given
by thewickednix
Summary: Denial is a beautiful thing. -- One-shot, mirror-story of Give It All, from Harry's Pov.


**Title:** Given  
**Author:** thewickednix  
**Pairing:** Harry Potter / Draco Malfoy  
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Categories:** One-Shot, Slash  
**Warnings: **Hate!Sex, Adult Language  
**Words: **1 700  
**  
Summary:** Denial is a beautiful thing.

_DISCLAIMER:_ _This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._  
**  
Author's notes: **Spin-off in whichever Hogwarts year you choose. Short story I came up with while trying to study for my history exam.

* * *

He is drunk the first time he kisses you.

You have absolutely no idea how it happened. One minute you are snickering at him, gloating over yet another Quidditch game won by Gryffindor. Malfoy leers at you, his expression made slightly less intimidating by his drunken stupor. Then suddenly he grabs you violently, pushing you up against the wall, his lips crushing against yours. You would tell him to fuck off immediately, but somehow your brain is addled by the hot body against yours, the feverish throbbing in your stomach.

"Harry? Harry?"

Hermione's voice breaks the two of you apart, and for some reason you hate your friend at that moment. Still, you are forced to wipe your mouth with the back of your hand and spit at Malfoy.

"Fuck off, you freak!"

Malfoy sneers, raising an eyebrow, but says nothing. He turns around and disappears into the shadows of the corridor just as Hermione appears next to you. She asks where you have been, and you mumble a lie about needing fresh air, the party was too crowded. She admits that you do look flustered, perhaps the two of you should take a walk. You refuse not so courteously, saying that you've had enough fresh air for tonight. Right now all you need is a drink.

You need something to take your mind off certain things.

A week runs by and you tell yourself that you have not thought of Malfoy any more than you usually do. Of course, you note him when he is at breakfast in the Great Hall, when the Slytherins practise Quidditch, when he stands too close to you in Potions. Nothing unusual. But when you find yourself seeking his name on the Marauder's Map, and seeing dreams of grey eyes and malicious laughs, you know you are in trouble. And when you wake with a throbbing hard-on after one such dream, you realise it has gone too far. You need to talk to Malfoy, ask him what he was playing at, and once and for all tell him to sod off.

The next day you get your opportunity. You watch him as he goes to the supply closet during Potions. Making sure that everyone else is busy with their potions, you follow him. He startles as you close the door behind you, but his surprise fades quickly to apathy.

"What are you up to, Potter?" he drawls, raising a pale eyebrow and leaning back against the shelves nonchalantly. You take in a deep breath and open your mouth to finally confront him, you ball your fists to hit him, but somehow you find yourself paralyzed. Your eyes dart to Malfoy's eyes, to his neck, down to where his collarbones peek out from under a loosely buttoned shirt. Malfoy has begun breathing heavily under your piercing gaze, his chest rising and lowering rapidly. And suddenly what you want, what you _need_, is not to hit him.

Before you know it you have leaped over the small space between you and pinned Malfoy against the shelf. You kiss him violently and are ecstatic when he answers with just as much fury, his fingers digging into you shoulders as you bite, suck, ravage until you taste blood. The shelves shake with your drastic movements, bottles of various potions bumping together. Your hands slither under his shirt, his warm skin shuddering beneath your touch. His gasps and moans are music to your ears.

Then a bottle of Calming Draught falls to the floor, and both of you freeze mid-movement. Taking a step back from Malfoy, you stare at him quietly for a minute. He looks back, swallowing loudly, before beginning to tuck his shirt back into his pants. You need to find something to do, so you crouch down to pick up the shards of broken glass.

"Potter! Why am I not surprised?"

You jump at the sound of Snape's voice, thanking god he didn't walk through that door a minute earlier. Self-consciously trying to hide the blush creeping over your nose, you stand before the Potions professor.

"I'm sorry, sir," you mutter between clenched teeth, trying to catch a glimpse of Malfoy's expression. To your frustration he looks completely calm, crossing his arms in front of his chest. Smug as ever, knowing he wouldn't get in trouble with Snape if he so brought a Blast Ended Skrewt into the classroom. That would probably only result in additional points for creativity.

"Why is it always you who manages destruction in my classroom, Potter? Thirty points from Gryffindor, and that potion will need to be replaced. Detention at eight tonight," Snape drawls in a manner that suggests the potion probably wasn't even worth five points.

"Yes, Professor," you sigh, while Snape huffs incredulously.

"Mr Malfoy, you get back to the classroom. I believe Mr Zabini has some problems with your concoction. Potter, you will stay here and clean this up. Manually." The professor disappears in a swirl of black robes, followed by the Slytherin. He doesn't even look back at you, and somehow that feels worse than getting caught red-handed.

You spend the entire while in detention trying to ignore Snape's constant snide comments, instead wrapping your mind around the issue of Malfoy. You have a hard time believing your own actions earlier this evening, but an even harder time believing Malfoy's reaction. You curse the blond Slytherin, the bastard who has fucked you up so royally. As if you hadn't enough problems to begin with.

"Alright, Potter. I think we're done here."

You sigh out of relief and hurry out of the door before the greasy git changes his mind. It's already 11pm, and the halls are long since empty. You curse Snape out loud, thinking of how the hook-nosed bastard snatched the whole evening from you. He probably knew you have an essay on Herbaology to turn in tomorrow. Climbing the stairs, you clench your teeth, knowing you won't get much sleep tonight.

"Potter!"

You fight the urge to ignore Malfoy's voice and continue up the stairs, and turn around slowly.

"What is it, Malfoy?" you grit between clenched teeth. You really aren't up for any more of his bullshit right now.

Malfoy sneers, his white teeth glistening in the dim light of the moon. "You're out after curfew. That'll cost you fifty points from Gryffindor and a notification to McGonagall."

"You've got to be kidding me!" you roar at Malfoy, face flushed from rage. Reaching for your pocket, you look for your hall pass. Then you realise; Snape didn't give you one.

"Fuck!" you exclaim loudly, turning back to Malfoy who has reached you on the stairs. You look at him pleadingly. "Come on, Malfoy! You _know_ Snape gave me detention, cut me some slack, will you?" You try your best though you know your pledge sounds for deaf ears.

"I never heard anything about a detention." Malfoy grins, raising an insolent eyebrow. "Sorry, Potter, there is nothing I can do for you."

Something inside you snaps. You lunge at Malfoy, and only have time to see his eyes widen in surprise before the two of you hit the floor. Your knees hit the stone painfully, and Malfoy cries out under you as his head does the same. You feel the urge to laugh at his pain, and before you know it you have raised your fist and hit Malfoy hard above the cheekbone. He hisses and squeezes his eyes shut for a second before he looks up at you and roars.

"You'll pay for that!" He knees you in the gut, and you fall over in pain. Malfoy straddles you as you fall, sitting down on your stomach and pinning your hands above your head. You struggle beneath him, but he is strong and your kicks fail to hit him. He leers viciously.

"You hit like a girl, Potter."

And he leans down to kiss you.

In contrast to his hands still gripping you hard, his lips are surprisingly soft against yours. He teases you, his slick tongue flicking barely inside your mouth, his teeth lightly nibbling on your lower lip. You feel your breath start to exhilarate, and you break your arms free from his grip to be able to tug at his collar, run your fingers through his hair, claw at the naked skin you find beneath his shirt.

He shivers under your touch, and you feel his erection digging into your hip. It isn't long before you are rutting together, giving into your lust as you wanted to do in the storage room, giving into these insane desires that have plagued you for days. Everything is rushed, you are breathless and seem to be burning up, Malfoy's every touch feels like fire on your body. It's too hot, it burns so much that you want to crawl out of your own skin. Yet, you can't seem to get enough. To know teenage lust has never felt as good as it does right now, will never feel as brilliant as it does in this moment, on this cold, hard floor, where anyone could walk by any minute and catch you.

When you come, though there are no fire works, you feel the earth shifting beneath you. Malfoy gasps in your ear, repeating incoherent words with his eyes closed, mouth twisted in a sneer as he too descends into bliss. He then rolls off you, but remains lying beside you on the floor. You hear his breath starting to even out, and you fight to calm the beating of your heart. After a moment Malfoy draws a deep breath.

"I'm still taking those fifty points."

You chuckle, closing your eyes as you move into a more comfortable position on the floor. And for the first time in a long time, you decide to be honest to yourself.

"I would've given a hundred."

_finis._


End file.
